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“My face is fine.” I wasn’t used to being babied. I’d been beaten up plenty of times before and I knew eventually everything would fade on its own.
“Please?”
It was just a single word, but damn if it wasn’t the most tender thing as it slid from between her lips, just a simple, earnest plea.
“Hallway past the fridge, second door on your left. First aid stuff is all behind the mirror.”
“Thank you.”
She hurried off and I sipped at my water, liquor forgotten beside me. I still couldn’t help but wonder if I was in some sort of strange dream, or if I had actually been knocked out in the ring and I was hallucinating. That would explain the complete impossibleness of everything that was happening.
I loved Amber, that was true, but I also knew how she was. Having her single mother die when she was a kid had traumatized her in ways I could never understand. They apparently had been close, real close, and she rarely ever talked about the kind woman.
Then she had been shipped off to her father who maybe sorta tried to be there for her but bungled that pretty badly. I never got specifics, but he basically tried to continue living his life as if nothing had changed, never really making time or providing for Amber in the way she had needed as a grieving teen who had to move to an entirely different country and leave behind everything she knew.
Then there was Trisha. Loving, fiercely protective, but still so busy with the fight to provide for Amber and give her anything she needed to flourish that she was often completely exhausted. I remembered when we were teens that Amber had confided in me that it made her feel guilty. Like she was using the older woman. She wanted to get a part time job after school to help, but Trisha only wanted her to think about her education.
All of that horribleness, that stress and tension packed into her formative years made Amber play her cards close to her chest. She was slow to trust. Slow to love. For the longest time we all thought she might actually be asexual, because she showed absolutely no interest in anyone.
So, for her to be here, looking openly worried, hopeful and so many other things… well, it just didn’t seem like something that could really be happening.
And yet she returned with her arms full of supplies, setting it all on the little end table beside my chair before kneeling between my legs.
My body responded automatically, my dick starting to perk up in my grey sweats. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. She just gently gripped one of my hands and started there.
The gloves I had had protected me from most of the damage that could happen to knuckles, but I still had a few scrapes. She cleaned them dutifully with a swab dipped in what I assumed was witch hazel. As a stunt worker who probably got banged up from time to time, she probably knew that hydrogen peroxide was really only for cleaning messy wounds and could actually kill new, healing cells. Granted, witch hazel was still an astringent and could be a bit harsh, but it was the better of the two.
Once those few scrapes were done, she then poured lotion into her palms, rubbing them together. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening until she began massaging one of my hands, careful to avoid the scrapes she’d just tended to.
Oh… oh man.
I’d been to plenty of messages since I had become financially secure, but none of them were by Amber. Her eyes were half-closed and contented as she worked my hand over, her tongue coming out to occasionally wet her lips. It was something, alright, seeing someone so headstrong and smart kneeling there between my legs, tending to me like I was some sort of king.
That rumble made its way through my chest again and her eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly before she methodically moved on to my other big paw. I sat back, practically melting into the chair, and let her just… take care of me, as she said.
I was struck again by how small she looked down there, kneeling between my legs and tending to my every need. I knew from experience how bountiful her figure was. How sturdy and beautiful and perfect it felt against mine. Funny, how she could shift from impassive warrior queen to… whatever the hell this was.
Surely, she didn’t do this for everyone. It hardly made sense that she was doing it for me. And yet there she was, finishing with my other hand then pushing my sweatshirt up to look at my ribs.
She clicked her tongue as she looked at the deep purples and blues spreading across my ribs. Ricky had landed some really good blows there and I wasn’t surprised considering how much it ached. He hadn’t broken anything though, and that was what mattered.
